


In The Meantime

by freakwithacamera (assholemurphy)



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Underage Drinking, vic plays doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 04:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13263471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assholemurphy/pseuds/freakwithacamera
Summary: After a particularly brutal encounter with his father, Henry allows himself to be taken care of by his boys. Vic patches him up and they spend the night in his living room. Just another night in the (admittedly fucked up) life of the Bowers Gang.





	In The Meantime

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing the Bower's Gang, and I've only just started the book, so this is mainly based off of the movie and the little bit I do know about their characters from wiki's or whatever. (I'm not too sure what happened to Henry's mother, but for the sake of this fic, she's gone. Also, I don't know much about Vic's familial relationship, but for the sake of this fic, they're absent and dgaf.)

Patrick ran his hand up and down Henry’s side, partly because he liked touching him and partly to try and keep him distracted enough so that he would sit still for a few more minutes so that Vic could finish cleaning up the cuts on his face. It wasn’t working because Henry wouldn’t stop fidgeting. It was probably due to how angry he was, but it was also due to the fact that Vic’s touch wasn’t exactly gentle. Usually, Henry would have just shrugged him off and told him to quit fussing over him like a bitch because he wasn’t some kind of wounded animal and he didn’t fucking need him to nurse him back to health, but it was bad this time, worse than usual, and even though he would never, ever admit it out load, it felt nice to have someone show they actually cared about him, which was the only reason he was allowing his boys to touch him right now instead of shoving them off and beating his fists against the nearest surface for being such a coward and letting it fucking happen. Letting himself be so fucking powerless.

Most occasions, after he escaped from his father or the rage wore off and he passed out in his easy chair, Henry would leave the house and go to Patrick’s, which was the closest, and from there he would have Patrick call Belch, who would pick up Vic and they’d find something to do, someone to fuck with, most often one of the little loser freaks from school, they were easy targets and fun to screw with. It made him feel better, like he wasn’t so powerless, to shove them around and let go of some of the anger that he couldn’t take out on his dad for fear of making it worse for himself. If he could have hit his father back, he would have, but he’d tried that a couple times and each time he’d ended up in the hospital with doctors pressuring him into spilling his guts. Like he’d ever do that. He wasn’t the brightest, but he wasn’t fucking stupid.

But this time, instead of chasing down one of those losers, Vic had taken one look at the cuts on his face and the gash that was bleeding all over him and demanded that Belch take them to his house, so he could patch Henry up and keep him from bleeding out, and Henry had been too overwhelmed from the fight to protest. It was probably for the best, since his shirt was soaked with blood from the gash on his shoulder that Patrick kept poking at.

“You’re gonna need stitches in that,” Belch told him from his side of the couch. He was watching the scene in front of him with a look that was half concern, half barely concealed rage. If he could get away with it, he’d beat the shit out of Henry’s father, but he couldn’t. Not because he’d probably get his ass handed to him, Belch wasn’t scared of that, but because he was a cop, he’d have him arrested, and then he’d just take it out on Henry later and he’d come out even more fucked up, he’d probably bypass the hospital and go straight to the morgue. But that didn’t stop Belch from wanting to do something, anything. He and Patrick even had a pretty solid plan to get rid of him should the chance ever present itself, but it probably wouldn’t.

Henry squirmed around in Patrick’s lap as Vic touched a piece of gauze soaked in antiseptic to the worst of the cuts on his face, from where his father’s ring had caught him. He jerked away with a hiss.

“Stop being such a pussy,” Vic frowned, chasing after him. “If you think this hurts, just wait until I stitch up your arm. That’s gonna hurt like a bitch, because I don’t have anything to numb it with.”

Vic had done a bit of research in the library, not that he’d ever tell the guys he’d been there, willingly, too, and even charmed one of the nurses at the hospital into telling him the basics of first aid after the last time Henry had ended up there. It had been really bad that time, worse than now. Henry had had a concussion and there had been around twenty or so shards of glass stuck in his head, but even then he hadn’t told the doctors what had happened, he’d just spewed curses and let them clean him up before leaving, against the doctor’s wishes and crashing at Belch’s.

Vic had learned not because he liked it, he hated the idea of taking care of other people, he’d rather be the one inflicting the damage than cleaning up the aftermath, but he’d learned out of necessity. The less they had to go to the hospital, the less questions the doctors could ask, and therefore the less suspicion it would cast on Butch because the more people noticed, the more he took it out on Henry. It was just safer for Henry not to go, even when he really should have.

So, Vic knew a bit, not enough to save anybody’s life, but enough to patch up Henry, and occasionally Patrick when he picked a fight with someone bigger than him and there was nobody there to back him up, because Patrick liked violence, even if it meant he was the one getting hurt, just a little too much. Not that it made Vic love him any less, but he did worry about him sometimes, Belch did, too, but he was more of the opinion that Patrick’s greatest danger came from himself, rather than the people he fucked with. But, there was nothing Vic could do about that, so he focused his efforts on the outside dangers to him, and did his best to be there when Patrick started fights, even if that meant he had to coach Belch through basic first aid when he was the one needing assistance.

Belch was the one he worried least about. Belch didn’t start needless fights, his mom was a sweet lady – her house was the one place they knew they were safe, which had been proven to them on the nights when Butch had come looking for Henry and she’d politely turned him away, despite none of them directly telling her what was going on – and he was probably the most stable of them all. Sometimes, Vic was even a little bit jealous of him, for having his mom when Vic’s parents were mostly out of town or just ignoring his existence. It would have been nice to have someone ask him about his day, push him to get better grades – even if they were already good without much trying – and a home cooked meal (that didn’t come from Mama Belch) once in a while, but he didn’t have that, and it wasn’t worth dwelling on, so he shoved it aside. Besides, as sweet as Belch’s mom could be, she had nothing on her son when he was in an affectionate mood. Henry hated being doted on, Patrick couldn’t care less and would just make fun of him for being sappy, so most of the time Vic was the one Belch was affectionate with, and as much as he would pretend otherwise, he loved it.

“Ow! Goddammit, Patrick, I swear to god, if you don’t stop treating me like a fucking science experiment, I’m gonna fucking knock your teeth out!” Henry snapped, pulling Vic away from his thoughts and back into his living room.

He watched as Henry tried to elbow Patrick in the face, but missed due to the awkward angle, Patrick snickering and grabbing his arm, holding it in Henry’s lap. “Stop moving, asshole, you’re gonna get blood on the couch and then Vic’s head will explode.”

“Fuck the couch! Stop touching me!”

“Then get off my lap,” Patrick shrugged, letting go of Henry and leaning back, waiting for him to leave.

Henry huffed angrily but made no move to leave. He didn’t want to get off of him. He didn’t want to lose the contact. As much as he hated himself for it, he needed it right now. “Just leave my shoulder alone.”

“But-”

“Just leave it alone, Patrick, you’re making it worse,” Vic demanded. “Just hold him still while I stitch it up.”

Patrick smiled smugly and wrapped his arms around Henry’s waist, pulling him against his chest and whispering in his ear. Vic couldn’t make out what he was saying, but no doubt it was something filthy. The only time Patrick ever stopped antagonizing Henry was when he wanted to get laid. Still, he seemed to be doing a decent job of distracting Henry, so Vic wasn’t going to complain.

Vic looked over the wound and sighed before handing the supplies he needed to Belch, leaning over to get a better view of the gash. It was bleeding pretty badly, but not enough for him to bleed out. Vic winced at what would happen if he really did get blood on his mother’s new couch. He didn’t think she’d get too angry, as it wouldn’t be the first time it happened, but he’d rather not make her any more passive aggressive towards him, when she did acknowledge his existence, anyway.

It took him a while to thread the needle, but he finally got it and set out to work on stitching Henry’s shoulder, trying to ignore the little grunts of pain Henry was giving out as he purposely looked anywhere but at his shoulder. He was gripping Patrick’s so hard his knuckles were almost white, but Patrick didn’t seem to care, he just kept using his free hand to tease Henry, running it up his side under his shirt, playing with the waistband of his pants, anything he could get away with.

From what Henry had told them, which wasn’t much, as reliving it wasn’t something he found pleasant, Butch had gotten pretty drunk and shattered a bottle on the wall next to Henry’s head to intimidate him, and as he pulled it away, his hand dropped and the edge caught Henry’s shoulder and tore it open. Butch had then grabbed him by the throat and punched him in the face a few times while screaming at him. Henry hadn’t said about what, but Vic could guess it was something about his mother. That seemed to be the main reason for Butch’s abuse these days.

“Bastard,” Vic muttered quietly, trying to keep his stitches even. He wasn’t the best at sewing, but he had practiced a bit after buying the kit. Not enough to be good at it, but enough so that his hands didn’t shake and his stitches weren’t haphazardly strewn across Henry’s skin like a crazy connect the dots puzzle.

 “So, do you think you could sewn an extra limb on him, if you tried?”

Vic paused to look at Patrick with his eyebrows raised, “Why? You got an extra limb hidden in your closet you’d like to offer up?”

“I could get one.”

“Where? I’m pretty sure the hospital keeps the morgue locked and you don’t have the balls to kill anything bigger than a house cat,” Belch snorted.

Patrick just shrugged and rested his chin on Henry’s good shoulder, “I’ve never tried to kill an adult, but I bet I could.”

“Yeah, well, be careful when you test that theory, they’ve got DNA evidence and shit now,” Belch rolled his eyes and made a face at Vic that caused him to huff out a laugh.

“You don’t actually have to kill someone to take their limbs, though. Could just kidnap them or something, then let them go,” Vic shrugged, tying off the stitches and cutting the loose string.

Patrick smiled, “Then we could attach it to Henry the next time his dad goes apeshit.”

Henry scowled, “I’m not letting you attach anything to me, you fucking freakshow.”

“Suit yourself, but I think it’d look cool.”

Belch rolled his eyes again, something he did quite often when Patrick was talking, “You wouldn’t know cool if someone stripped you naked and threw you out in the Arctic.”

Patrick scoffed but didn’t reply, instead fixing his attention back on Henry and pressing a kiss to the back of his neck while running a hand up Henry’s chest, making him shiver.

Henry ignored the advance, instead looking at his shoulder, asking, “Are you done?”

“Just got to finish bandaging it.”

“Good,” Henry sighed. “I could really use a drink. You got anything left?”

Vic snorted, surprised it hadn’t been the first thing Henry thought of when they’d gotten there. “Dad restocked the liquor cabinet before they left.”

“I love your dad,” Belch laughed softly. Vic’s parents didn’t seem to care that they drank, or if they did, they didn’t say anything, so more often than not, they’d sit around in Vic’s living room and get drunk off of whatever was in the liquor cabinet.

“Go get whatever you want and bring it in here. Just don’t puke on the couch.”

Belch nodded as he got up and left towards the kitchen as Vic finished bandaging Henry’s shoulder.

“There. You’re all set. Just don’t get it wet and you’ll be alright.”

“It’s gonna get wet when I shower.”

“Then at least change the bandages.”

“I’m out of gauze.”

“Take some home. Fuck knows I’ve got too much.” He hadn’t been sure how much he’d need, so he’d bought quite a bit when he’d made up the kit. It had been funny, the look on the pharmacist’s face when he’d checked out. When he’d asked what Vic was up to, he’d simply told him to mind his own fucking business and left.

Henry nodded and relaxed against Patrick as Vic wandered into the kitchen to wash his hands clean of Henry’s blood. He heard Henry talking to Patrick, “I’m gonna kill him one day.”

“Want help?” Patrick asked, sincerely as he pressed his face against Henry’s shoulder. He was ready to kill Butch, at any time. Not just because he was curious as to what killing an adult would feel like, but because he did, in some twisted way, care about Henry. Henry was _his,_ and the fact that Butch would lay hands on what belonged to him enraged him. But Belch was right, if they did anything, it would just make it worse.

“Sure,” Henry sighed, letting his head drop back. “I wanna gut him like a fish with one of his own fucking bottles. Fucking jackass.”

Vic returned from the kitchen, drying his hands on his shirt as he watched them for a second before clearing his throat, “You wanna stay here for a few days? My parents won’t be back ‘til next week and you’ve got enough clothes here to last you. Both of you can stay. Belch, too.”

They may as well all stay there. It happened often enough, usually after Henry got away from his dad, or whenever Vic was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the size of the house. It was big, too big for one person, so they stayed here quite often, except for when his parents were home, then they crashed at Belch’s.

Henry closed his eyes for a moment as Belch returned, holding a couple bottles and four glasses. “That might be for the best. If I go back now I’m gonna stick a knife in his neck.”

“I don’t see how that would be a bad thing.” Patrick mumbled against Henry’s skin.

“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in prison.”

“It’d be better than spending it with him.”

“I’ve got two more years before I graduate and get out of here. I can make it,” Henry reasoned. He’d come up with a plan, already started saving money. He’d leave as soon as he graduated, and he was taking all of them with him. They’d discussed it a few times before, and were in agreement on leaving Derry.

Belch set the alcohol down on the floor in between them and wrapped an arm around Vic’s waist, pulling him against his chest, “Thanks.”

“It’s not like I bought it.”

“No, fuck– Thanks for keeping our dear leader’s guts inside of him.”

“Whatever,” Vic shrugged, but he smiled and let Belch pull him down onto the couch and into his lap. It was how they spent most weekends, most nights, really. All four of them on the couch, be it at Belch’s or here, watching whatever was on television and forgetting how fucked up everything was for just a little while.

He wished their lives were different – better, easier – and that they didn’t have to sneak around to do this. Maybe in a few years it would be different. He was the only one with grades good enough for college, but he didn’t care where. They’d all follow Henry wherever he went. To another state, another couch, where they’d get drunk and watch reruns of shitty tv shows every weekend and work dead end nine to five jobs they all hated, but it would be okay because as much as it sucked, it’d be better than this. Better than Henry living in fear, or Patrick’s overbearing mother, or Vic’s absent parents, haunting the house likes ghosts long past. Belch would be the only one with a reason to come back, and that was okay. Vic wouldn’t mind coming back for Christmas with Mama Belch.

Vic watched as Patrick flipped through the channels, searching for anything entertaining. He hesitated for a second before reaching over and taking Henry’s hand, shrugging when Henry gave him a questioning look. Henry made no move to pull away, though, so Vic held on to him. Two more years. They could last two more years. In the meantime, this was enough to keep them grounded.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Catch me on tumblr: [blamethebowers](http://blamethebowers.tumblr.com/)


End file.
